


Cutting Me Up

by tattooeddevil



Category: 30 Seconds to Mars
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the dark is too dark and you need help seeing. Sometimes the light hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cutting Me Up

He stares at me for what seems like an eternity. It makes me nervous and edgy, but I can’t show him that. I can’t show him anything.

‘Who are you?’

I know perfectly well what he means, but I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him anything.

‘Tim.’

He shakes his head. I wait for the disappointment to set on his face. The frustration and anger to come out. I am surprised when it doesn’t. But I can’t let him know that. I can’t let him know anything.

‘What are you afraid of?’

Good question. A question I have a million and one answers to, but none he wants to hear, I’m sure. I can’t answer him the way he wants me to though. I can’t and I won’t. Instead, I try to sidetrack him by attacking in the worst possible way. Antagonizing.

‘Apart from spiders, heights and clowns? Ghosts and the dark.’

The anger should set in now. Any second, it will cross his face and he will snap. They all do. He’s done it before. He will. But he doesn’t. Instead, he meets my daring stare and stares me down with patience and care. For what seems like an eternity again.

‘What about me?’

The ever present understanding in his voice and eyes throws me off balance enough for me to answer truthfully before I realize it.

‘I love you.’

I can feel my eyes go wide at my own spoken words. Fuck. Fuck, this was not meant to happen. My brain doesn’t work fast enough to come up with a way to take it back, set it right, before he’s crossed the room and is standing in front of me. His hand closes around my wrist, not too tight, but tight enough to make me realize he’s there and means business.

‘Don’t take it back.’

I cast my eyes down and stare at the carpet. Our feet. He’s wearing the sneakers I got him for his birthday last year. He turned forty and I gave him sneakers with the most ugly and childish colors I could find. He loves them.

His hand squeezes my wrist softly to get my attention. I look back up at him, meeting his steady gaze with my own shifty one.

‘Do you?’

I can feel myself freefalling. Everything is spinning out of control. It probably already was when I picked up the knife earlier, but I was in control still, then. I am not in control anymore. He is. My façade has crumbled enough for me to be unable to build it up again. But I won’t go down without a fight.

I force the public mask on my face and for a moment I see the flash of recognition and sadness in his eyes. It doesn’t stop me from being a bitch though.

‘Sure, why not?’

I watch him close his eyes for a moment, and swallow hard. His fingers around my wrist tighten slightly and only briefly, but it sinks in my head anyway. His patience is hanging on by a thread. One more push and I will have lost him. For good probably. I’m pretty sure this is the talk-or-walk moment for him. Who wouldn’t, when they find their boyfriend cutting himself with your kitchen knife?

When he opens his eyes, the calm is back. But something far worse is there too. Tears. He makes no move to stop the first one from falling down his cheek. Nor the second or third. He lifts the arm he is holding and looks down at it. I do too, fully aware what I have done to myself there. What he walked in on not ten minutes ago.

‘Why?’

His voice sounds tearful. It would. He is crying after all. I watch a tear fall and splash on my arm, the salt stinging the fresh wounds a little.

‘Are you that unhappy?’

I don’t answer. I can’t. But he takes it the wrong way. The wrong way completely.

I watch him step back and let go of my arm. I don’t even feel it fall back, bump against my side. All I see is the tears on his face, his body slowly turning away from me, his head hanging. This would be the moment to speak up. Set him straight. Make him stay. But I can’t.

It shocks me how much I want him to stay. But I can’t open my mouth and ask him to. Ask him to not walk away, give me a chance, save me. Save me. I can’t. And he walks. For good.


	2. Need You Now

I know I shouldn’t have walked out on him, not when he needed me so much, but I couldn’t stay and watch him lie to me. Lie to himself. I didn’t mean to walk away, but I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know what else to do.

I stare down at the ground. At the sneakers he bought me for my birthday and a small smile forms around my lips. He knows me so well. I know him so well. Or do I? I didn’t know about the misery he was in. Is in. I didn’t know about his coping mechanism. I didn’t know.

The door is cold against my back. I haven’t made it far. Just outside the door. Our door. The door to our house. The one we live in together. It’s cold. Just like him.

I don’t believe he wanted to hurt me the way he did. But then why does my heart hurt so much? Why do the tears keep running down my face? Why do I feel guilty for walking out on him?

Something deep inside me tells me I should go back. Talk to him. Help him. Listen to him. Make him talk to me. Save him. Something in my mind tells me he is sorry. That he fucked up. That he still loves me. That he is simply scared and feeling lost. That he is afraid to ask me to save him. But it’s not in my mind. It is on the other side of the door.

‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to push you away. I love you. I need you.’

I turn around to face the door and put both my hands against it. Leaning my forehead against the cool surface, I listen to his whispered confessions.

‘I need you to hold me. To help me. To kiss me. To save me. I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m falling, so fast. I’m spinning out of control and I need help.’

It is everything I need to hear, yet I am not hearing it. Not really. He’s not saying these things to me, but to my memory. Would he say them if he knew I was here?

‘I know you’re still out there. Please come back? Please come inside? Please save me?’


	3. Dark, Cold Hands

The words just fall from my mouth. All the words I want to say, but refuse to say. And am now saying. My mind doesn’t listen to my will anymore. It listens to my heart.

‘I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to push you away. I love you. I need you.’

I forced my mouth to not speak those words for so long I am surprised it still knows how to.

‘I need you to hold me. To help me. To kiss me. To save me. I can’t do this alone anymore. I’m falling, so fast. I’m spinning out of control and I need help.’

Spinning so fast I’m afraid I’ll come out the wrong side. Or have I already lost the battle?

‘I know you’re still out there. Please come back? Please come inside? Please save me?’

He has to still be out there. He has to. I don’t know what I will do if he’s not out there anymore. He does though. He knows. And he won’t let it happen. Right?

‘Please come back. Please come back. Please come back, please come back, please…’

I hear my voice faltering until it is no more than a whisper. When I look down at my hands, they’re shaking. My arms are shaking too, and so are my shoulders. Inside and out, I am shaking all over.

My knees hit the floor, but I don’t feel the pain. My hands stroke the cold door as if it is your back.

You’re not out there anymore.

My forehead hits the door with a thud, my eyes fall shut. Dark, cold hands grip around my heart in a tight hold. You’re not out there anymore. My legs move me up and to the table. Cold steel burning in my hand, a pulse beating under the sharp edge. The only way to end this. You’re not coming back.

‘I’m still here.’


	4. I'm Still Here

I’m afraid of what I’ll find behind the door. Afraid he’ll hurt me again, afraid he’ll hurt himself again. Afraid his words are just to make me come back. That he doesn’t mean them.

No, I don’t believe that. He would never lie to me just to make me do something. He would never intentionally hurt me like that. Or would he?

Doubt and hurt swirls through my head, making my stomach flip, as I reach out my hand to the door. No sound from inside, no answer to my words. Confession. Promise. I watch my fingers wrap around the door knob and turn. What do I expect to find?

He is standing in the middle of the room. Knife next to his feet on the floor, his eyes staring at it. My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches in my throat. I know what he was going to do.

‘Look at me.’

I need him to look at me. I need to see his face and his eyes. I need to know his words weren’t empty, lies, tricks. I need to know he’s still in there, that he hasn’t died yet.

But his eyes stay on the floor, on the knife, on his end. Our end. My earlier doubts hit me like a tidal wave, anger and panic riding that wave like a monster.

‘For fuck’s sake Tim, look at me! I deserve at least that!’

I am in front of him in two long strides. His head whips up, his eyes meeting mine with a shock. I realize I yelled at him too loud, probably scaring him off and it makes the anger disappear as fast as it came.

His eyes tell me everything I need to know. Every fear he has, every pain he feels, every bit of desperation. I know he meant what he said. That it wasn’t just something he needed to say, but what he wanted to say. Does he still want to say it?

I lift my hand to touch his face, caress it, but he flinches. Does he really think I would hurt him? What is he thinking? I touch his face softly, my fingertips brushing over his cheek, his lips, his nose. The hand drops, reaching out for one of his hands. His hand is warm in mine as he grips mine tightly.

A little piece of me, of us, slides back in place, feeling that tight grip on my hand. He wants this. Me. Us. He wants it, but he is scared. Realization hits me. I need to be the stronger one, I need to be the rock he can cling to, I need to love him.

His eyes are still glued to mine, but the nothingness is back. The nothingness from before. Before I walked out, before he hurt me, before we got lost. That little piece cracks a little, but I refuse to let it break. I can do this, he can do this. He has to. For me.

‘I’m still here.’

Nothing. No reaction. Nothing. I am about to let go of his hand when he suddenly moves. Without breaking our connection, he takes something out of his pocket and presses it into my free hand. I lift it up and shift my eyes to look at it. Pills. His pills.

‘Tim?’

But his eyes have shifted to the bottle too. I shake the bottle a little. Full. The label says Tim’s name and the name of the drugs. I don’t recognize it, but I don’t need to. All I need to know is something is wrong with him and he is asking for my help. Is he?

‘Tell me what to do.’

My words make him pull away and panic sets in my chest again. Is he pushing me away again? Does he not want this after all? Have I set myself up for hurt again? His eyes drop to the floor again and seconds later his whole body slumps to the floor too.

‘Tim!’

My arms jerk in response, trying to catch him, but all he does is sit down and draw his knees to his chest. I can see he is shaking, trembling, and trying to hide it still. Again I realize this all needs to come from me, Tim is not giving me anything unless I drag it out of him.

I drop to my knees and manoeuvre myself against his side. I wrap my arms and legs around his rigid, tense body and nuzzle his neck, whispering soft words in his ear to try and calm him down, comfort him, let him know it is okay to love me.

‘Shan?’

The soft whisper is laced with emotions. Desperation, fear, sadness, all rolled up in that one soft word. It breaks my heart and makes me want to fix things now. Love him. Save him.

‘I’m still here Tim, right here.’


	5. Stay

He is still here. Still here. Here. And I am with him. Still here. He yelled at me, is he angry? He said he deserved it. Deserved to have something. Look at him. I couldn’t. Is he disappointed? But he’s still here. Still here. Why? He wrapped his arms around me, his legs too, it keeps me safe. Does he love me?

His hand in mine felt so good. So strong. I never wanted to let go of it. I did let go, but I didn’t want to. I had to. But I didn’t want to. Does he know what they are for? Should I tell him what they are for? Do I want him to know what they are for? Does it matter what they are for?

I feel him move his arm before the bottle of pills lands on the floor with a soft sound. It rolls away, I can hear the pills rattling in the bottle as it does. The sound grates on my nerves and I can feel myself tensing even more in his arms. Shannon’s arms. He is still here. Still here.

I said his name. Shan. I called out to him and he understood. He understood. He understands. His voice is a soft whisper in my ear, a warm breath against my skin. The world is rocking a little, back and forth, or is that me? Us? His arms and legs are still around me, settling me, protecting me. I don’t have to call out to him anymore. He is still here. Right here.

‘Tim?’

‘Yeah?’

I feel a sigh escape his lips. A sigh of relief?

‘Please tell me you’ll stay. Please.’

‘I’ll stay.’

Anything for him. Anything to stay where I am right now. Anything to take that desperate tone out of his voice. Anything to make him not so sad.

‘Thank you.’


End file.
